Psychological Thriller Books Novels & Stories

Sabeerah brought them out one by one. Muslim Girl and If I Speak by Umm Zakiyyah, The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides, Three Daughters Of Eve by Elif Shafak, On Black Sister's Street by Chika Unigwe, And Then There Was None by Agatha Christie, A Time To Kill by John Grisham and finally, A History Of The Wives Of Prophet Muhammad by Umam Kahn. She picked up the last book which was actually a journal and tucked in its side were plack pencils with bookish scribbles on them.

I could only hope that she would have settled in again by tonight, because otherwise I would be allowed to sleep on the couch one night again - and it was really uncomfortable. Sighing, I leaned back and opened the completely tattered book again, which I actually already knew by heart. But I wanted to repeat as much as possible today so that I could get off to a good start tomorrow. I ran my finger over the familiar table of contents. Foreword, evolution, instinct, social life, physiology, reproduction, ancestry, stem groups and subspecies. How many times had I made this movement with my finger? I couldn't count it anymore, but it was like a little ritual I had to go through before I could s

He obviously loved thrillers as most of the books were made up with novels by Ian Fleming, Desmond Bagley, Hammond Innes, Ian Rankin, Michael Robotham and Alistair MacLean. My mobile sounded and I moved out on to the landing. Caller ID: Kimberley. “Hello, darling,” I said into the phone. “I need a drink,” she explained. “Bad morning?” “Ever since that break-in you investigated, Bio-Preparations insist on having an audit every month,” she said breathlessly. “Why have they got to have it on a bloody Saturday?” “You poor thing,” I said soothingly, feeling partially responsible. “So how about the Waggoner’s Rest?” She persisted. “I’ve just arrived back at the quay.”

, Rachel grunts. I want to say "Why", but I don't want to risk sounding like a creep so I whatever her and go back to going through the rest of the shelf even though I'd done that a thousand times before. I drag my hands across the spines of the books; Kara Taylor's Prep School Confidential, Carol Wyer's The Secret Admirer, and Megan Goldin's The Night Swim. You would be subtle to call Rachel a crime-thriller addict - she's more of a crime freak. The Night Swim. There is a piece of paper sticking out of it. I pull it out of the book. Something is scribbled across it in Rachel's handwriting.

I knew that I would obey her like the law until the end of my life. She was my queen, my universe, my world, and my everything. I didn't know what would happen to me if she ever left me, but I think I might go insane. We may have started our relationship in a forbidden way and ended up in pain, but this time, I'll do my best to make sure that our new beginning will end up in euphoria. I am Dashiel Davin Carter, the Psychopath Professor of Marra, and I am her Psychopath Lover. And now, I could hereby say that the class has officially dismissed. The End.

I look around before stepping out in my house. Every day, I feel like someone's watching me, my every move. It's very uncomfortable and scary at the same time. I don't know the motive of my so called frankster. Every day, means every box that was loaded of my pictures and pictures and pictures! It affected my every day life... As I got to work I remembered the day that I saw the man... I know, I saw that smirk already, I just can't recall exactly whom I saw it.

It was cluttered with books and materials of all sorts. Several opened books were scattered on the computer table, with red marks and notes scrawled across the pages. Someone had been studying very hard there. Nathan slowly walked over and flipped through the books. Psychology? He frowned as he took in the room. He saw a lot of books on the shelf that didn't belong to him. His gaze was locked on the titles. "Best Ways to Handle Toxic People". "The Key to Overcoming Nasty People" "Foundations of Psychology" Nathan's lips curled slightly as a smirk played on his face.

The sound doesn’t exactly drown out the pecking voice, but I can kind of focus on the narrator, and it really helps the day go by better. I like mysteries and psychological thrillers, but only if they’re written and narrated by women. If a woman’s reading it, I can listen to the most grotesque crime scene descriptions and think nothing of it, but if it’s read by a man, I can’t handle it. I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations.

I sat on the floor, the wine bottle open and already half-empty, the sharp, acidic sting of the alcohol doing exactly what I wanted it to do—it dulled the sharpest edges of my panic. I started pulling books from the shelves, just looking for something, anything, to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn't have to think about my own life. That’s when I saw the folder. It was tucked between two thick philosophy tomes, unassuming and leather-bound. I pulled it out, expecting a journal or a history book, but the pages were filled with neat, dense handwriting and complicated charts. It was psychological research.

"That’s more like it." But even as we sat there, already thinking of the next move, one thing stayed lodged in my head. We didn’t know who it was. We didn’t know what they wanted. And worst of all? We didn’t know when they’d strike next. The final bell rang, a loud, echoing chime that signaled the end of another school day. I shut my book with a quiet thud, letting the weight of it rest in my hand for a moment. My fingers traced the edges of the worn pages—The Lucifer Effect, a twisted psychological study on how power and circumstance could turn ordinary people into monsters. Fitting. I had always been drawn to books like this, not just because they were interesting but because they confirme